random
I know the ending and it's so much like the beginning I could cry. Filled with this apathy and this cruel sense of irony in that after so long and so much work it all came down to this; nothing. Nothing but his name 13 letters short of being more than a dream. Nothing more than thoughts and fantasies and ideas, Nothing better than those things I do best or at least better than most else-- like caring and loving and sharing---because I am secrets I am thoughts and I am no more. Written on page after page poured out like the words between my lips as he stood there and did nothing because he felt for anyone save for the someone that was me who was the only one that truly cared for him. The feelings were lost on him because feeling was a foreign concept like me and if he refused my existance and theirs too then I didn't exist and niether did they because I could only ever be, only ever have what he wanted and that was nothing---at least not by me or my feelings.
Taking shot after shot i tried to drown the memory but I only had one bottle and three years to erase so I was shy at least 2 more of what I needed but I should have expected that anyway because wasn't that why I was drinking in the first place---because I was short--short on breath every time I saw him and even short on those times--short on the moments when I smiled and shorter still on the times when my smile meant something to him. Always coming up short except in those things which drove him away--my dreams my feelings my hopes my needs my words---those were limitless--creating barriers and roadblocks he was only too glad to accept--so I ought to smile tonight, I ought to cry less tomorrow, I ought to thank every star in the sky because at least I could give or do something right--for him. Except that I didnt drink--not one drop-- I couldnt bring it to my lips couldnt let myself let go because in his own way he had given to me too. He gave me endless journals and ideas, beautiful tragic moments where almost really didnt count, more than I could ever say--where he lifted me high above the world until I felt almost transcendant even when he left me far behind.
Id scream but I'm too busy laughing at this foolish girl I see in the mirror everyday and I watch as she watches him and i can't help but think how beautiful his eyes are or how lonely and sad she looks and really I'd pay her more attention because even that is beautiful to me but I can't stop looking back at him even if it is her Im really watching because I can see his face reflecting in her eyes and I can hear his voice in the small sighs that she sometimes can't hold back and when I touch the smooth glass reflection of her hand I can feel the heat where his once rested and she smiles at me because she feels it too and if there is such a thing as a soul thats all she is--lost and alone--or maybe thats him and he is the soul looking for the home-- I beat my hands against the glass and yell and cry out to him--she is so close just reach out--but I can see the pain on her face the harder I try and she raises her fist to meet mine and cries back to me--he is so close just let go--I can read the words on her lips, can even taste them on my own. I slide my hands down the mirror and she is painted red blurring the image-- it is hard for me to know whether by setting him free she is keeping him or letting him go.
Taking shot after shot i tried to drown the memory but I only had one bottle and three years to erase so I was shy at least 2 more of what I needed but I should have expected that anyway because wasn't that why I was drinking in the first place---because I was short--short on breath every time I saw him and even short on those times--short on the moments when I smiled and shorter still on the times when my smile meant something to him. Always coming up short except in those things which drove him away--my dreams my feelings my hopes my needs my words---those were limitless--creating barriers and roadblocks he was only too glad to accept--so I ought to smile tonight, I ought to cry less tomorrow, I ought to thank every star in the sky because at least I could give or do something right--for him. Except that I didnt drink--not one drop-- I couldnt bring it to my lips couldnt let myself let go because in his own way he had given to me too. He gave me endless journals and ideas, beautiful tragic moments where almost really didnt count, more than I could ever say--where he lifted me high above the world until I felt almost transcendant even when he left me far behind.
Id scream but I'm too busy laughing at this foolish girl I see in the mirror everyday and I watch as she watches him and i can't help but think how beautiful his eyes are or how lonely and sad she looks and really I'd pay her more attention because even that is beautiful to me but I can't stop looking back at him even if it is her Im really watching because I can see his face reflecting in her eyes and I can hear his voice in the small sighs that she sometimes can't hold back and when I touch the smooth glass reflection of her hand I can feel the heat where his once rested and she smiles at me because she feels it too and if there is such a thing as a soul thats all she is--lost and alone--or maybe thats him and he is the soul looking for the home-- I beat my hands against the glass and yell and cry out to him--she is so close just reach out--but I can see the pain on her face the harder I try and she raises her fist to meet mine and cries back to me--he is so close just let go--I can read the words on her lips, can even taste them on my own. I slide my hands down the mirror and she is painted red blurring the image-- it is hard for me to know whether by setting him free she is keeping him or letting him go.